The Trouble With Security Chiefs
by Kavery12
Summary: In which the Impala gets a problematic security chief and Captain Winchester vows to never again trust Starfleet intelligence analysts.


I do not own Supernatural or Star Trek 2009

This is number...*counts on fingers* Who knows. I've lost track - isn't that awesome? Never expected the series to get this far. Anyway, the story is loosely connected to _Finding Dad_ and we get to find out why the _Impala_ went missing :)

* * *

><p>Captain Dean Winchester was finally receiving his much-requested security officers. The <em>Impala<em> was a bit small to be high on the priority list for new security officers (_Enterprise,_ on the other hand, was a black hole for such personnel) but she was finally gaining an official chief of security and four new officers, bringing her ranks to a respectable ten members plus the chief.

Then Captain Winchester flipped open the file regarding his new chief.

Captain Winchester wanted to crawl under the bed and hide like a storm-terrified six-year-old Sammy.

_Chief of Security – Commander Jo_ _Harvelle_.

Ellen was going to kill him.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, clutching his PADD like it was a life preserver or perhaps a sacrificial lamb, Dean jogged through the halls of his ship. He was really hoping to catch the irritable doctor before she found out and flayed him in front of the crew.<p>

Spotting Sam, he snagged his brother and first officer on the fly. "You heard about chief of security?" Sam nodded and tried to sidle away. "Oh no you don't," Dean growled. "We're facing the music together."

He had just managed to convince Sam to go with him when he heard a very angry, low voice pin him to the wall like a butterfly on a barbaric antique card. "Captain Winchester, a word?"

Ellen Harvelle didn't pause for more than a second before she launched into a tirade about how irresponsible, impossible, idiotic and generally incompetent Starfleet at large and Captain Dean Winchester in particular happened to be on a daily basis.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm. He understood Ellen was angry, he really did. But the captain could not be upbraided like this in front of the rest of the crew. It interrupted chain of command and invited insubordination. At the same time, shutting Ellen down with anything other than utmost tact and consideration would breed bad blood and the last time a Harvelle had decided to hold a grudge, it had lasted for seventy eight years (it was Ellen's grandmother, if you must know).

Thank god for Sam, who stepped forward into the brunt of Ellen's rant and gently, firmly, nudged the whole fiasco into sick bay. The nurses knew Ellen and how to clear out, scattering like sparrows before a very large cat.

"What the _hell_ is my daughter doing on the _Impala_'s security roster as chief of security?" Ellen demanded sharply as the door shut behind Dean, every razor word dripping with lethal poison.

"I don't know Ellen. And you know that I don't choose these things. I get the units as they come available. I turn this down and my scientists are going down to planets with inadequate protection. Jo's extremely qualified, her men are solid security and her record is flawless."

"And if I read that same record right," Ellen snipped back, "she's straight out of that accelerator program, the one that you called a suicidal death trap."

Dean groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. The problem with being on such close terms with what were technically his subordinates was rearing its ugly head. Sometimes their input ran to the emotionally distraught side of things and they began talking to the captain like he was an equal.

And whether or not you liked it, Starfleet had a command hierarchy for a reason. Captains had to make use of the resources at their command, regardless of emotional attachment.

On the flip side, Dean hated giving orders that created unnecessary bad feelings.

Rock met hard place and squashed Dean betwixt the two like a helpless bug.

"Ellen," he said slowly, trying to feel his way out of this maze, "you do know that if I reject Jo, we're going to lose any hope of getting new security officers for the next three months. Additionally, Jo will be assigned to the _Enterprise_ because Kirk will see Jo's record and pounce. He's been trying to find a second in command for Cupcake ever since they had that run-in with the giant worm-thing."

Ellen began that silently vibrating with rage thing that told Dean he hadn't fixed things, only made them worse because he was right and he was right in a way that pissed Ellen off further.

He mentally wrote off the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>When one very self-satisfied Commander Jo Harvelle sauntered onto the <em>Impala<em> six hours later, Dean wanted to throw himself into the warp core or something similarly violent and life-ending.

Ellen wasn't speaking to him save to threaten him with dismemberment should he allow her daughter to get a position with the crazy _Enterprise_, the crew was uneasy, Dean needed the security personnel and Jo was pleased as punch that she'd gotten a plum assignment aboard the USS _Impala. _

"Commander Harvelle, if I could have a word," Dean called across the transporter room as new recruits scrambled to find their belongings and appropriate supervisor.

Jo had the nerve to grin cheekily at him.

Pulling her around the corner where they wouldn't be heard, Dean glared at the petite blonde. "What the _hell _Jo? Enlisting in Starfleet behind your mom's back? I'm not even touching that one, mostly because it's none of my business. It _is_ my business when you deliberately request posting on your mother's ship, where I am captain, causing personnel conflict. Your mother is no longer capable of acting in an impartial manner and you've put me in the position of either losing essential security personnel or my highly competent and also essential CMO!"

Jo blinked, digesting the torrent of information from her new captain and frowned at him. "Permission to speak freely, _captain_?"

Dean threw his arms open in an expansive gesture. "Please, do!"

"Don't be such a drama queen. I'll go down, talk to my mother and sort this out."

The captain drew himself up. "You'd better sort this out, _commander_. I need both of you working at full capacity. If you can't, I'm going to take your men, cite you as incompetent and drop you at the next star base. Your career will be on the line because I need my CMO more than I need a green security chief. It's not exactly kosher protocol, but it's not against regulations and I'm currently in pretty good standing with the Admirals."

"Bit hypocritical, isn't it, captain? Your brother's first officer."

"My first officer has never compromised my ability to lead this ship and in return, I have never affected his ability to do his job, commander. And you are the last person in a position to criticize my decisions. Get down to sick bay and sort this out. That's an order."

He watched her stalk out and hoped he hadn't just initiated a throw down scarier than the potential fallout of the Klingons and Romulans allying themselves against the Federation.

* * *

><p>Commander Jo Harvelle was seething. Of course Captain Dean Winchester was right. Naturally. He was a good captain. The good ones were always right.<p>

Never mind what she wanted to do. Never mind that her mother wanted her to get a nice, bland, safe job as a police officer or something on Earth, away from the stars that had killed her father and refused to let go of Ellen Harvelle.

Jo could have grown bitter about her fractured childhood years ago but philosophically came to the conclusion that the entire family had space in their blood, like the Winchesters.

Harvelles weren't as cursed as Winchesters though. Jo intended to keep it that way.

She understood why Dean was pissed (although it had been kind of shocking to see a very intimidating captain's glare on Dean, who used to teach her which boys to avoid over a scratchy ship-to-Earth connection) but that didn't change her determination to get aboard a ship for longer than a two month hop.

And she knew that this rotation around Jo Harvelle was destined for either the _Impala _or the _Enterprise_. She was hoping that Dean wouldn't need the personnel and would let her go on to the _Enterprise_, where the action was hot and no one knew who she was.

Apparently that wasn't the case.

If she could make a difference by helping people here though, it wouldn't really matter.

First she had to make it past the dragon.

* * *

><p>Dr. Ellen Harvelle was so angry that she was practically spitting nails through the view screen at her friend Dr. Leonard McCoy.<p>

McCoy told her to get her head out of her ass.

She hung up on him, mostly because she knew he was right.

Just then, the sick bay doors whooshed open and her wayward daughter stepped into Ellen's domain.

Ellen had wondered why Jo started calling her from parks, libraries and public places but had made it a habit of not needling her trustworthy daughter as long as marks were good and Jo was happy.

Apparently, she should have asked more questions.

Jo Harvelle was destined for better and safer things than a Starfleet security officer, especially aboard the _Enterprise _or the _Impala_. Ellen had buried her in the American Mid-west for this very reason.

Evidently it hadn't worked and she was a horrible mother to have not noticed that her daughter had moved from the middle of nowhere to San Francisco and then to several distinguished short missions aboard a Starfleet vessel. Ellen knew she'd had her hands full since the Winchesters assumed command, but she never knew how easy it would be for a daughter to slip under the radar.

Now Commander Jo Harvelle was wearing Starfleet security red and standing at perfect parade rest, looking her mother straight in the eye.

Yeah, this was going to end real well, Ellen could tell from the get-go.

"Mom," Jo said quietly but firmly.

"Jo, what the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I made a career choice that seems to run in the family and that you don't really have grounds for protestation. Mom, I love you and I'm sorry you don't like the decision I made, but I really put thought into this and Starfleet security is what I want to do."

The relatively calm speech, obviously rehearsed in front of a mirror, took a lot of the wind out of Ellen's sails.

"Sweetheart, you know how many security officers I put back together or do autopsies on! I don't want that for you!"

"I don't either Mom, and that's why I'm damn good at my job. I like security, far more than being a secretary like you suggested or even a police officer."

Ellen sat down heavily on her favourite stool, feeling a thousand years old. Jo pressed her advantage. "Mom, I can't promise that you won't have to put me back together some days. But I feel alive out here, Mom. I feel like I'm doing something, like I'm not caught in limbo anymore. And I can't let you take that away from me so you can swaddle me in bubble-wrap. And you can't take it out on Dean either. We're both lucky he hasn't court-martialled us."

"Leave Dean out of this."

"Can't do that Mom, you're the one who screamed at him in the corridors. It's spreading through the ranks as we speak. Even I heard about it on the shuttle up. Keep picking at him, you're going to force him into a corner and he's going to have to take action."

Ellen scowled. She wanted Dean to be unreasonable so she could be unreasonable back. She wanted a target to lash out at but she also didn't like being the childish instigator.

Seemed like Jo and Dean had done some growing up while Ellen wasn't looking.

"Fine," Ellen acquiesced brusquely. "You can stay and I won't make Dean pay for it. But I'm still not happy about it and probably never will be. You die on me Joanna Beth and you will have effectively killed your mother as well. Just remember that now."

She felt a great deal of pride when Jo straightened her spine and nodded soberly in acknowledgement.

* * *

><p>Dean was very, very aware that he had just dodged a terrifying supernova when Ellen strode into his ready room for briefing the next day and nodded in apology to her captain. He let out an undignified sigh of relief, causing Sam to chuckle and Ellen to smirk.<p>

Ash and Castiel also looked happier and Bobby just guffawed at the kids. Ellen Harvelle had put the fear of sick bay into everyone on the ship but him (and even he quailed a bit when he had to register an injury acquired through stupidity).

Commander Harvelle joined them exactly five minutes before the meeting. Ash stared. Castiel didn't. Bobby raised an eyebrow. And Ellen was carefully blank. "Everyone, I believe you're familiar with Commander Harvelle. She'll be joining the _Impala_ as chief of security." Dean introduced rather unnecessarily.

Ash grinned and kicked a chair free from the table for Jo, then glanced over at Ellen like a terrified bunny rabbit, remembering who exactly was supposedly mad.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Stop pussyfooting around me. I wouldn't be here if I disagreed with the crew on this ship." The tension finally snapped completely and Sam nodded companionably to Jo before opening the meeting in earnest.

"Starfleet wants us to investigate an interesting gas discovered in a nebula on the edge of the Neutral Zone. Usually they wouldn't send us for such a low-risk mission, but Romulan warbirds have been spotted in the area and we stand the best chance of running away. Should we assess the risk and find it too high, the _Enterprise_ or another Constitution class ship will be assigned."

"Yeah, and if Kirk has to take this little jaunt, he'll be bitching about us slacking for weeks," Dean muttered. "Sam, what do you think?"

Sam shrugged. "We're in top condition and we've got a full complement of personnel. I see no reason not to at least check it out."

They discussed it a bit further and Dean couldn't help but notice that while Commander Harvelle was undeniably professional and helpful, there was a very excited twinkle in her eye as the meeting adjourned.

* * *

><p>The trip out was uneventful. Sam was practically vibrating on the spot at actually being assigned an interesting scientific mission that didn't require his diplomatic skills as well. Dean was pretty sure Jo just wanted something exciting to happen and the rest of the ship was yawning already at the thought of spending two weeks in cloud-land while Sam and his little minions went into paroxysms of scientific delight.<p>

When they arrived, Sam discovered that the gasses not only cancelled out any communications, they were liable to fry the _Impala_'s impulse engines. Warp engines were definitely out. Transporter was a little iffy.

So Sam and Bobby wrangled up a shield that allowed the _Impala_ to proceed at one quarter impulse power and Dean pretended to be okay with a hobbled _Impala_. This ship, he grumbled to himself later as he tinkered with the finicky transporter, relies on her engines, a speed machine. Just thinking about facing a Romulan war bird on one quarter impulse was enough to give him the willies.

"Captain?"

Dean jumped and smacked a knuckle off a conduit, cursing roundly. "What?" he demanded ungraciously.

"Sir, Commander Winchester just wanted you to know that he hid the _Impala_ behind an asteroid and it's unlikely that a Romulan ship would be able to scan us at all. He's also taking a shuttle out into the nebula with two scientists to study the cloud. Commander Harvelle is going with them."

Dean rolled out from under the pad. "Why can't they study it here?"

The nervous ensign started to shrug, thought better of it and replied that she didn't know.

"Fine," Dean scowled. "Thank you ensign, dismissed."

He continued to scowl from his captain's chair. "Who stole your coffee?" Ellen asked as she watched the shuttle putter out into the nebula. Dean grunted. Something about this just didn't sit right. Something was hinky and Dean didn't have the slightest shred of evidence to back it up.

That wasn't true, he realized and fished out his captain's PADD of Awesomeness (it let him do just about anything and he was very careful not to let Sam near it. His brother might decide to take over the world with the thing) and fished up various maps, overlaying them.

The picture painted was not pretty. "Get Sam on the horn," Dean ordered absentmindedly, already irritated that Starfleet's self-righteous analysts hadn't caught the pattern Dean had just figured out in fifteen seconds.

"Yeah Dean?" Sam asked absentmindedly.

"Sam, I need you to get outside the cloud and send a message to the _Enterprise_."

"What?" Sam squawked. "Why?"

"Maps 23-B, 35-C and the current Romulan intelligence reports, overlaid on each other and applied to this sector," was Dean's reply.

Sam's eidetic memory did the rest. "Aw shit."

"Yep. Starfleet screwed us over but good. We'll soon be sitting right in the middle of a cute little Romulan powwow."

The shuttle slipped quickly over to the edge of the nebula and out into clear space. Sam had just gotten connected to Uhura when a Romulan war bird dropped out of cloak. Cutting the transmission and knowing that Kirk would at least come to check out the lost message, Sam ducked back within dubious transporter range as the Romulan commander barked various not-niceties over a broadband channel.

Sam's scientists understood immediately, hopping onto the pad. "Up you go," Sam told Jo, who looked suspicious and disinclined to leave her co-pilot chair. "Commander Harvelle, that's an order," he said more definitively.

She obeyed. "You're going to come too, right?"

Sam grinned. "What do you think?

And then the transporter activated.

* * *

><p>Dean Winchester did not previously know that Joanna-Beth Harvelle, sweet lil' thang from a town of white-washed churches and home-baked cookies, raised by her grandmother, could swear with the best engineers in the Fleet.<p>

He knew now and bookmarked a few phrases for later use. Then he cleared his throat. "Commander," he interrupted.

Jo realized how unprofessional she was acting and marshaled herself. "Commander Winchester isn't coming," she reported shortly.

Dean's jaw clamped shut and muscles all along the bone jumped viciously. "Understood," he snapped out a minute later.

"_Understood?_" Jo almost shrieked. "He's your _brother_!"

Captain Winchester wheeled on her with an expression that made Jo shrink back against the bulkhead as she had not done since she was very small.

"I understand," he said with false calm in precise, carefully spaced words, "that security officers are trained to think of the individual. However, I must consider this entire ship and the fact that we are the only ship in the area privy to the Romulan activity currently taking place. Commander Winchester is going to distract the Romulans and allow us to continue gathering vital information. If you'll excuse me Commander Harvelle, I have to confer with my scientists."

He stalked out of the room and Jo got the impression she'd just screwed up royally.

Bobby laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Welcome to the USS_ Impala_," he said quietly, "where you know you're part of the crew when you allow your family to walk unguarded into extreme danger for the greater good."

* * *

><p>Sam quickly boosted several power systems, wiped transporter logs and rumpled the cabin to look as if he'd been staying there for at least a week. Finally, he responded to the hails, deliberately slouching in his chair and blinking shortsightedly at the view screen. "My apologies. I had hooked my communications into the sensors to boost power so I could record various gaseous anomalies."<p>

He winced a little inside. If Dean ever heard that bullshit excuse, he'd smack his brother. The Romulan looked a little skeptical as well. "You are out here by yourself?"

Sam gave his best excited scientist smile. "Yep. Starfleet said the anomaly wasn't terribly important but _I _think it's absolutely fascinating so it's just me and my shuttle on leave, out here examining the minute fluctuations in halogen gasses and their correlations to" and Sam rattled off the most boring minutiae of his research in geeky abandon.

The Romulan interrupted him, looking a little glassy-eyed. Sam smirked inwardly. Worked every time. "We are coming aboard. You will cooperate, Starfleet officer. If there is not a larger ship hiding in the area, you may be allowed to live. Rest assured, we will find it."

Damn.

Sam was afraid of that.

The Romulans were thorough and rather rough in their search of the shuttle. Sam was clapped in irons. He went docilely with only the most cursory of verbal outrages and complaints in keeping with his harmless scientist routine.

Aboard the dingy Romulan ship, Sam sucked in a lungful of dry, hot air and immediately began to sweat. Dragged before the Romulan commander, Sam continued to milk his chosen 'disguise,' crossing his fingers.

The Romulan commander stared at him. "You can stop acting now."

Shit. Sam tried one last time with wide, innocent eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You are Commander Sam Winchester of the USS _Impala_. We know of you and your brother. There is a rather hefty bounty on your head, do you know that? Intelligence told us that it was your ship that allowed the _Enterprise _to destroy the _Narada II_. I am going to find the _Impala_, collect that bounty and then" the commander leaned in close and smiled through foul teeth, "you, your brother and your crew are going to rot in Hell."

Well, this day just kept getting better and better.

They threw him into a dingy, dank cell after only the briefest search. Sam propped himself up in a corner, staring thoughtfully at his bindings. Breaking out. When would be the most opportune time? Sam would have slipped out of the cuffs in the transporter room but he wanted to gain a little more information. That and currently the _Impala _was safe. If he transported back, she'd be found in an instant.

The shuttle was out. Not fast enough at all. And even Sam couldn't take the entire crew of a war bird. He needed Dean to do that.

At least the war bird would stay in the area for a while to look for the _Impala_.

That was when the ship jumped to warp and Sam decided he was screwed.

* * *

><p>Dean watched, strung tight as a piano wire as the war bird with his brother blipped away at warp speed.<p>

There was an unearthly silence aboard the _Impala_.

"Track them. When the _Enterprise _gets here, we'll send her after Commander Winchester," Dean ordered. "There's something going down there and we need to know what it is."

Jo swallowed hard and ventured a question. "Why aren't we going after Commander Winchester?"

Dean's eyes were hard. "Because we don't have enough men to help Commander Winchester get off a Romulan prison planet and the _Enterprise_ does. Sit down, Commander Harvelle. You are now communications officer. Send a message buoy out when the _Enterprise _arrives detailing the events leading up until this point. Add that Commander Winchester will be in possession of intelligence regarding the Romulans so those Starfleet Admiral bastards can't say we sent the flagship on a personal vendetta."

Jo nodded and didn't mention that she'd never touched a communication console before in her life. She'd figure it out.

The whole ship hummed with white hot tension. Leaving one of their own, especially loyal, friendly first officer Sam Winchester, to the mercies of the Romulans, went against the grain of every individual aboard the ship. But they were professionals. They would hold the course their captain ordered because he never steered them wrong and the captain loved his brother more than they did (and they liked Sam Winchester quite a lot).

No one dared ask the captain if he thought they were currently headed in the right direction.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

Uhura was rarely shaken, but her long fingernails quivered just that bit as she sent the message buoy over to Captain Kirk, who stiffened as he scanned the message.

He immediately ordered the whole ship to yellow alert and barked out headings for Sulu to follow at maximum warp. "This is a rescue mission," the captain barked to the bridge crew. "Commander Sam Winchester of the USS _Impala_ was taken captive by Romulans approximately one hour, forty five minutes ago. He is in possession of valuable information. We are in pursuit. People, we are going to find Sam and we are going to bring him back alive. Understood?"

A very serious set of individuals returned to their work. Scotty had been listening over the intercom and soon the _Enterprise_ was screaming along at dangerously high speeds. "Ser," Chekov began, paused, screwed up the courage and continued. "Vill de _Impala_ be all wight on her own?"

Kirk's lips compressed and he didn't answer. "Judging from the projections provided by the _Impala_," Spock stated calmly, "they will be surrounded by a conference of Romulan clan heads seeking to ally against the current Romulan ruling class. These heads are extremely interested in acquiring further Federation territory."

Everyone mentally translated that to mean that the clan heads wanted to eat the Federation alive and the _Impala_ was going to be sitting in a pit of Starfleet-hungry vipers.

New urgency fueled the _Enterprise_.

* * *

><p><em>Romulan war bird<em>

Sam was getting hungry. The heat wasn't helping. He hoped the Romulans remembered that frail humans got dehydrated. The cell door banged open and a rather angry Romulan yanked Sam to his feet.

Compliant, Sam followed along meek as a little lamb. It always confused his enemies, especially when contrasted with his firecracker brother.

"You are weak," the Romulan hissed in his native tongue. He continued to insult Sam, his brother, his mother, his ship, on and on in the most banal, repetitive manner. Clearly this one wasn't chosen for his brains.

"Are you done? And as a suggestion, your verb conjugation could use a little work." Sam said politely in Romulan when his escort paused for breath.

The choked look on the guard's face was so worth the fist planted in Sam's solar plexus.

Sam was still wheezing when he was dumped in the middle of a semi-circular room, probably the equivalent of a Starfleet ready room. He pushed himself to his feet only to be struck across the shoulders and kicked behind the knees by his guard.

On his knees it was.

The Romulan commander stalked over, slammed the butt of his gun under Sam's chin and jerked Sam's head up. The view screen was on and an elderly Romulan with a hawkish, many-times broken nose glared at Sam.

"You are Commander Sam Winchester?"

The time for innocent and harmless was over.

"I am." His tone of voice was unshakeable, strong and calm.

"Did you assist the _Enterprise_ in returning to defend Earth from the lawful action we took against Federation pigs?"

"With pride."

The Romulan sneered and Sam stared back coolly.

"You are hereby sentenced to serve three lifetimes on the prison planet Remus. Have you anything further to say?"

Prison planet. Remus. Poisonous atmosphere.

This was bad.

Sam held his tongue, thinking furiously. The old Romulan noticed. "Beat him so he can't think straight," he ordered briskly. "This one looks slippery." The younger Romulan commander seemed surprised but nodded with evil glee.

This was really bad.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

They were sitting in space while Chekov and Spock dogged away at the problem of the Romulan warbird. It had dropped out of space for a bit, judging from the ion trail, but where it went next was a little more difficult. A few other ships had gone through the area.

"Spock, we can't sit here for long. If the Romulans come back, we're screwed," Kirk reminded his first officer tensely.

"Understood, captain."

It was Chekov who triumphantly crowed and darted back to his console, jabbing their destination into the navigation computer.

The resulting planet killed all sense of joy – Remus, the dreaded Romulan prison planet. "Spock, didn't you say there were bounties on the crews of the _Impala _and _Enterprise_?"

"That is correct, captain. It seems a Romulan trial was held and Commander Winchester transported to Remus to fulfil his sentence."

Kirk closed his eyes and prayed no one would ask.

Sulu did. "How long would a human last on Remus?"

In a rare show of compassion, Spock was vague on details. "Approximately eight hours, Mr. Sulu."

* * *

><p><em>Remus<em>

The beating could have been worse, Sam reflected. They could have broken his ribs instead of just bruising them. All his bones were intact. He didn't have a black eye and could see mostly straight. The concussion was a setback, but it could have been worse.

He poked gingerly at a beautiful swelling on his jaw and curled up in the corner, trying to convince his ribs that they didn't hate him as he continued to weigh his options. At least he could raise hell without worrying about the _Impala_.

A small voice in his pounding, achy brain hoped the _Enterprise_ was coming, but Sam knew it'd be ridiculously difficult for them to find him and the Admiralty wouldn't allow their flagship to chase after one lone first officer. He'd best plan for them to not come and then he'd be pleasantly surprised when they did show up (because he was pretty sure they'd arrive sometime, Admirals or no. He hoped they wouldn't be late).

Now he had to decide if it would be easier to try and take this particular warbird or if he should try and steal a shuttle from the surface and sneak away then.

Sam eyed his guard subtly. Taking this ship would be impossible. The guards must have lost a crew or something to the neo_-Narada_ fiasco, because they were keeping track of Sam like he was Lucifer himself.

Planet-side it was. He'd just have to get out of there before the poisonous gasses turned his lungs to mush.

Piece of cake. All Sam had to do was think like Dean.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

Hacking the data streams of eight Romulan warbirds was enough to keep even Ash occupied. They were reaping all sorts of interesting information, though and Ash figured that was the only thing keeping Dean Winchester in his chair at the moment.

The whole ship was waiting, waiting, waiting. There were several Romulan warbirds patrolling the fringes of the nebula, looking for the _Impala_, but none had dared venture into the area after one had lost power.

Yet again, Dean blessed Bobby and his clever brother. The _Impala_ could function in the nebula if she had to and it was currently hiding them better than any Romulan cloak. Still, sitting on his hands playing microphone and hacker while his brother was on a prison planet was chewing away at Dean's very soul and it showed in his stone-hard face.

Jo was picking up communications relatively quickly due to a neat little booklet she had found dangling from the communications headset's hook. "How to Maintain Communications when Captain Winchester Temporarily Elects You to do My Job," by Commander Sam Winchester.

It was helpful, clear, concise, colourful and made Jo want to cry.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

"All right people, how are we going to do this?" Kirk asked his best and brightest as the _Enterprise_ idled behind Remus' moon.

There were several glances around the bridge. McCoy had insisted that no matter what, he was coming along and as such glared at his captain. "You have a plan already, spit it out. Sam's running out of time."

Kirk gestured expansively. "We're going to steal that little prison transport there. Spock will play Romulan. Uhura, keep monitoring little-used frequencies. Winchester's inventive and will reach out if he can. All we have to do is go in, get him and come back out. Keep the plan simple and it stays flexible. Spock, McCoy and myself will be going."

Chekov raised a hand. "Ser, you vill need someone to hack into de transport's mainframe. Ozzervise it vill tink you an intruder, notify de base and lock out de transport."

McCoy's flabbergasted expression would have been hysterically funny at a less important time. "And exactly how do _you_ know that?"

Chekov turned a fine shade of pink and gestured about wordlessly before spilling a weird combination of English and Russian. Sulu listened carefully before translating, sounding impressed. "He says that he and a friend of his made it a habit of hacking confidential Starfleet communications and figuring out how to break into Romulan and Klingon prison planets as amusement when they were small. When Starfleet caught them, Command decided to recruit both into the Academy."

Chekov nodded miserably. Kirk had to smile and laugh at the flustered reformed genius. "Chekov, bar fights and hacking? I'm impressed. Either way, since you've almost kinda done this before, you're coming. Let's move! Sulu, you have the conn."

The ensign scampered after the command trio like an over-eager puppy and Sulu grinned at the sight, wishing his friend luck before turning back to his console.

Chekov couldn't believe it. He was going on an uber-important mission with the big three. He never got the chance because the captain wasn't a bad hacker himself, not at all, and there wasn't much he and Spock couldn't get done between the two of them. Mentally reviewing what he remembered of Remus, Chekov couldn't help but be thankful he wasn't leading this little expedition.

It wasn't going to be easy, no matter what the captain said.

Sure enough, Scotty managed to sneak them aboard the prison transport. The few guards weren't expecting resistance of any kind. Kirk and Spock handled them quietly while Chekov's fingers flew across the keyboard, pounding through code.

"Access granted, keptin. Ve are free and clear to manoeuvre."

"All right Mr. Chekov. I'll get us planet-side. See if you can't find Winchester through sensors."

As the captain flew and Bones complained about hair-brained schemes, Chekov was busy pulling up a half-remembered code from the days of hacking in his renovated barn-turned-teenaged lair. "That is a very effective virus," Spock said over the ensign's shoulder and Chekov almost jumped.

"Yes ser. It is the wirus that shut down Starfleet Command and it is vhy dey decided to catch Mikael and me." Chekov gleefully turned it loose in the system and followed in its electronic footsteps. "Ser! I hev found Commander Vinchester! He is in de mining complex! Keptin, ve _must_ get him out. De vorst Romulan prisoners are held dere."

McCoy paled. "Jim, he'll be lucky if we find him alive."

Kirk scowled and pushed the little transport forward that much faster. "I am _not_ telling Dean Winchester we lost his kid brother."

* * *

><p><em>Remus<em>

Sam Winchester had never really tried to emphasize his build. He knew he was big for a human and well built to boot. But he didn't like using his size. He didn't like being intimidating and his size was sometimes very awkward. He bumped about in ventilation shafts even Dean managed with ease, he smacked his head in engineering and every drunken idiot in a bar tried to pick a fight with him unless he was exuding death vibes.

Right now, Sam Winchester was thanking his parents, evolution, God, DNA, whatever was responsible for his hulking frame.

Even among Romulans, Sam was big. Coupled with what Dean called the Winchester glare™, most run of the mill murderers avoided or ignored the human with broad shoulders. Currently wielding a pick axe, Sam was the only individual there in the clothes he had arrived in. The guards were too lazy to waste a regulation tunic on a human guaranteed to be dead in a few hours.

This meant Sam had his lock picks, the two knives in his boot soles, the little micro-processor that broke open most brigs and a long thin plasti-leather rope tucked down into the seam of his pants. All a man needed to get out of here, except a Dean. Really, that was the kicker. Sam could use Dean – swearing, snarky and bull-headed enough to go through the wall of the mine should he choose. Beggars couldn't be choosers though.

He swung the pick axe with an easy rhythm, watching prisoners and guards alike through the dust-laced gloom. The mines were a miserable place to work – hot, damp, dark and the stench was overwhelming. No one worked any harder than they had to and even Romulans with their strong constitutions were coughing up great black globs of phlegm. Sam could feel the grit clawing at the back of his throat as he breathed, surrounded by surly, desperate men. If any two decided to team up on him, Sam knew he was dead.

The guard disappeared around a corner and the men slowed their work, most slumping to the walls. Sam followed suit, keeping his head down and fishing out a pick. "You," one Romulan snarled. Sam held his breath and worked furiously with the ankle chains. "Starfleet!"

Damn it, he had a prison escape to plan! He didn't have time for macho pissing matches!

"What?" he snarled coldly.

"Why are you here?"

Sam grinned thinly. "Same reason you're down here, jackass. Except I've killed more Romulans than you."

The burly man threw down his pick axe and Sam twisted the pick once more. His feet were free but Sam couldn't afford the time to loose his hands. Noticing the grubby, torn feet in front of him, Sam glanced up for the first time. "What, does it bother you that a human killed more Romulans than you?"

The Romulan flushed lime green and the men began to circle. Slipping the lock back into its hiding place, Sam tested the strength of the two foot chain connecting his hands. "Wanna dance?" Sam growled, standing up fully. He was at least a foot and a half taller than the rather short Romulan in front of him.

The murderer blinked for a second but didn't seem too concerned. "I like taking down trees," he said conversationally, drawing out a shiv. Sam was really hoping a guard would come back and break this up, but it didn't seem to be happening.

The Romulan charged in short, fast movements and Sam barely had time to slip sideways, notice the shiv stab in a starburst of pain and snag the man's neck between his chained hands. Swivelling about and yanking sharply with all his considerable strength at a good angle, Sam was sickly gratified to hear an abrupt snap.

Romulan or not, everyone falls prey to the cold, impersonal laws of physics.

The Romulan fell to the ground in a clatter of chain and thud of dead meat. Sam jerked the shiv from his shoulder, spinning it idly between his fingers with lethal dexterity. Silence fell in the mine. "Anyone else?" Sam demanded harshly, throat feeling full of rocks.

The bigger men shrugged, returning to work as the smaller convicts refused to meet his eye. Taking the chance, Sam picked his hands free and shuffled down the tunnel, dragging his pick-axe with him. Precious few miserable prisoners paid attention to him and those that glanced looked away after getting a look at Sam's face.

By now the dust and other nasty gasses were building in his lungs and Sam was starting to feel dizzy. He needed a communicator and he needed somewhere to hide. By this point, he was praying that the _Enterprise _was somewhere in the area.

Spotting the guard, Sam used his recently acquired shiv to dispose of the Romulan obstacle. Popping open the guard booth door, Sam slipped inside and breathed relatively clean air with relief. Carefully locking said door, pocketing the communications unit and then pulling the big switches marked "Main Doors" in a basic Romulan binary cipher was the work of a minute.

Disabling the bio-weapons took a second or two longer, as they were only activated by an unscheduled opening of the main doors, but Sam was soon crawling around in the small ventilation shafts, musing that he had spent far too much time in said shafts recently.

Popping the communication unit open and broadcasting, he almost wept in relief when the welcome ripple of Uhura's frantic voice replied. "Can you get a lock on me?" he asked hoarsely, trying not to sound pathetic.

Apparently he failed, judging from Uhura's sympathetic tones. "No, but I will absolutely direct the captain towards you. Stay put or at least keep that frequency open!" Sam promised to try but he could already hear the rattle of prisoners looking for something, anything, intoxicated with their own freedom.

"Where's Kirk, Uhura?" he demanded as he crawled through the shafts.

"They commandeered a prison transport. Kirk says he has Chekov tracking your unit. Just move upwards and they'll come to you."

Sam nodded even though she couldn't see him and started shimmying up the narrowest shaft he could find.

The air didn't get any cleaner, clearly dirty to discourage escapees.

Then Sam heard a Romulan shout in recognition.

He figured it was safe to say that this was the worst day ever.

* * *

><p><em>Kirk<em>

They were barricaded in the secure communications and transportation room, busy trying to get a fix on Sam when Uhura made contact. She kept them up to date professionally until she gasped in horror. "Captain, _hurry!_" she begged. Kirk glanced at the tricorder screen. The little Sam-dot had just appeared, pulsing gently.

"Let's go. Chekov, let me know if that dot moves. Spock, cover our six." Kirk hadn't heard that much distress in Uhura's voice since the day Spock had vanished from the face of Gamma 4-TBX and hadn't reappeared for eight hours.

It meant Sam Winchester was in serious trouble.

Kirk barrelled through corridors, breathing heavily through the filtration mask slapped hastily over his face by a worried McCoy. Kirk had decided that taking out Romulan prisoners with a phaser was too noisy. Instead, he had gone old-school and was using a low-tech 21st century M-16 submachine gun. It was old, it was deadly and it was very quiet when Kirk screwed on a silencer, unlike modern phasers. Chekov had stared wide-eyed, Spock was curious and McCoy frowned at the sight of a machine designed solely to kill, phased out when the standing armies of the world disbanded.

Kirk didn't really care. He hoped the Admiralty agreed with him because he was planning on using the beast in its fully-automatic mode as well if prisoners got out of control.

"Up dere, Keptin," Chekov panted. Kirk quickly checked around the corner, hearing the sounds of a struggle.

Then Sam Winchester yelled in pain and Kirk decided to hell with it.

Charging around the corner, he immediately booted one Romulan in the head. Sam was on the ground beneath four or five different prisoners and Kirk didn't stop to ask questions, just started shooting.

When silence fell, Sam was groaning as Spock heaved dead Romulans off the _Impala_'s first officer.

Blood clotted all down one shoulder, the accompanying wrist looked broken and an unconscious Sam was a mess of blood, bruises and lacerations. McCoy brushed Kirk out of the way and clapped a mask over Sam's face. "Jim, he needs the _Enterprise_. Now. I'm not sure how his lungs are still functioning. Most of his ribs are shattered and there's fluid in his chest."

"Scotty?" Kirk asked over the comm.

"Sorry capt'n. Romulans put up a transporter disruptor. Ye'll have tae get up in the atmosphere before I can get ye anywhere. Is the laddie all right?"

"He will be," Kirk replied grimly. "Kirk out. Spock, carry Sam. Chekov, you're leading us out. Take this." Kirk tossed him the M-16. "If they crop up in our way, mow them down." The ensign looked absolutely terrified but his hands were steady and he was alert, handling the antique gun with proficiency. "Bones, stay with Spock. I've got our backs."

They moved quickly, Chekov firing in short bursts of fire as needed. "Captain," Sulu's voice crackled in Kirk's earpiece, "you'd better get up here. We've got three very irritated warbirds looking for a Starfleet ship. Uhura's distracting them but that won't last long."

Chekov swore loudly and virulently in Russian, picking up the pace. Hearing that, Kirk grinned. The kid was learning. One day he'd be a downright terror.

Sam moaned as he fought back to painful consciousness, trying to make sense of the world. "Commander Winchester, please stay still," a familiar baritone rumbled right under his ear. Someone was carrying him, he realized hazily.

"'Pock?" he mumbled.

"Indeed, Sam."

Oh, that was okay then.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

Well, the cloaking idea had lasted for all of three hours until some Romulan equivalent of Sam figured out how to shield a warbird from nasty gasses.

Now all five of them (three had left earlier) knew the _Impala_ was floating around in the nebula and they were taking pot shots at the asteroids.

Dean thought Sam would be very proud of him. He hadn't sworn, he hadn't yelled at the terrified ensign who dropped hot coffee in his lap and he hadn't done anything monumentally stupidly insane.

And he was missing his first officer miserably.

"Bobby, are the engines working at full impulse yet?" Dean demanded of engineering.

"Well ya, but they'll only last about ten minutes. After that they're shot to hell Dean, and there'll be no repairin'em without a refit."

"Thanks Bobby. Ash, suggestions?"

His friend shot his captain a carefully respectful long-suffering look. "Captain, I am not Sam."

"I know that."

"No, Dean, I don't think you do. I'm a genius because I can get from A-Z by going through every single letter at ridiculously fast speeds. Sam is a genius because he gets from A to Z and skips everything in the middle. He thinks in leaps of logic. I could come up with a Sam plan but I'd need at least a day to run through all the variables to make sure it's _the_ Sam plan and not stupidity."

Dean was tempted to tear his hair out.

"Captain," Jo ventured. "I think the security team has something."

Dean swivelled around in his chair expectantly.

"If Bobby can synch his transportation skills and if Sam's intelligence on the Romulan warbirds is correct, my team and I can each simultaneously beam from the _Impala_ to a designated warbird, plant a bomb and beam back, then detonate, all within a minute and fifty seven seconds."

Activity on the bridge stopped and Ash stared at the newbie officer with something approaching hero worship.

"You can?" Captain Winchester asked skeptically.

Commander Harvelle raised her chin and nodded firmly. "Absolutely sir."

He stared at her for a minute.

"Do it."

* * *

><p><em>Kirk<em>

Kirk was starting to think that he and the Winchesters were cursed. He had his head in the engineering section of a least heavily damaged shuttle, trying to beat it into starting.

The prisoners weren't exactly logical in their destruction of all things shiny and this rattletrap had already looked like a heap of scrap, for which Kirk was eternally grateful. Naturally, the insides of the shuttle were where it counted, which was why Kirk was swearing and banging on a manifold as he hammered a port into submission.

"Kick it on now, Chekov!"

The shuttle sputtered, whined and whirred to life as Kirk gave it a baleful stink eye. "Get us out of here, Spock!"

The Vulcan complied with alacrity. No one wanted to be here any longer than they had to. "Kirk to _Enterprise_, we're coming up!"

"Hurry Captain," Sulu half-demanded.

It was a record run. Kirk vowed to keep the little shuttle-that-could as it banged down to a rather rocky landing in _Enterprise_'s welcoming landing bay.

"Kirk to bridge, Sulu get shields up and put her on red-alert! I want out of here yesterday! Maximum warp back to the _Impala_, Winchester always manages to get in over his head!"

McCoy rushed Sam to sick bay, totally ignoring his bellowing captain. The Winchester kid was looking greyer and greyer, his breathing laboured. There was a nasty-looking left femur break, probably why Sam had yelled back on-planet. A thousand other catalogues ran through the doctor's head as he started putting Sam Winchester back together again.

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

It was always the ones he cared about who got into trouble, Dean reflected. Not that he didn't care about every member of his crew, but the ones he knew personally, the ones he was friends with, they always got into shit.

Like Jo, for example.

She planted her bomb. She transported back to the _Impala_. Mission success! Then one of her men didn't come back, so she pulled a fast one and went after him.

Now there was a very angry warbird looking for them amongst the wreckage of his four Romulan buddies and two missing security personnel.

Dean figured he had been a serial killer masquerading as a ghost hunter or something equally nefarious in a past life and he was paying for the bad karma now.

Bad karma or not, the _Impala _was coming out to kick ass and take names, especially when they spotted a tiny Romulan shuttle making a break for it and the parent warbird shooting after said shuttle with great vim and vigour.

Castiel halfway-toasted the engines getting them out and then they had to stand by and take massive amounts of abuse while shielding the shuttle. "Ash, hail the warbird," Dean ordered grimly when the _Impala_'s engines cut out.

The Romulan commander was livid. He calmed down and started smirking when Dean surrendered himself and volunteered to transport over.

The bridge crew was in shock when Jo tumbled onto the bridge at a dead run, drawing up short and looking very confused. Ash glared at his captain, grinding his teeth and clearly sitting on a whole torrent of verbal abuse. "You cannot do that Captain. It is a fruitless course of action," Castiel almost-begged in his rather inflectionless tone of voice.

"Can and will, kids. You've got the however many minutes it takes them to kill me to contact _Enterprise _and mount either a rescue or an assault. No matter what happens, make sure the bastards don't get away."

Jo was a sharp officer and figured out what was going on. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

Dean laughed gently. "No you're not. You're captain. Ash, listen to the lady." Then he sauntered off the bridge, leaving a flabbergasted crew behind.

"Damn him," Jo whispered. The best way to keep an over-protective Jo on the ship was to make her in charge of all his precious crew members and tell her to keep them safe. Ash swore loudly and banged his fist down on his console. Castiel sat stonily at his post, fingers enacting repairs at the speed of light, as if it were his fault, as if he hadn't been fast enough and now his captain and friend was going to die because of him.

Dean didn't bother telling Bobby or Ellen. That would have been a shit-storm of epic proportions. Probably would have ended in mutiny, too. Not good for anyone involved. So he dodged various crew members and pulled some very fast pseudo-ninja moves to sneak into the transporter room.

He rematerialized in a dingy Romulan chamber and desperately wished for his steady brother's presence. No one here to watch his back, read his mind, follow him into hell.

Sam had experienced this situation just eight hours earlier and Dean thought it was the loneliest thing either of them had ever done.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

"Captain," Uhura reported. "We have a situation." She was in contact with an irritated, strung-out Ash. He outlined the state of affairs onscreen and looked very relieved to hear Kirk take charge.

"Security, stand by to board the warbird. Uhura, hail the jackass and tell him we are willing to negotiate for the return of a living Captain Winchester. If he is dead, we will open fire. Yellow alert, everyone."

Commander Harvelle ordered the _Impala _bear weapons as well. She seemed like a solid officer and Kirk inanely wished she had come to the _Enterprise_ in between worrying about a thousand other things, his brain whirring at top speed.

"Romulan commander says we're welcome to what's left of Captain Winchester," Uhura managed through a thick throat "and is beaming him to the _Enterprise _immediately."

"Scotty!"

"Ah've got the puir laddie, sair," Scotty replied in a furious burr. "Get the rat bastards, capt'n. Get 'em all." He turned away from the comm and everyone heard him bellow "Someone get me Dr. M'Benga, on the double!"

Kirk's fists curled over his command chair arms, clenching until everyone on the bridge heard bones pop. "Spock, did we make any reassurances regarding action taken after the return of Captain Winchester?" he asked in a voice that made the blood of every bridge member run cold.

"We did not, Captain."

"Excellent. Uhura, ask them to surrender."

Uhura murmured into her headset. Wincing at the reply, she shook her head. "They will not, Captain."

"Even better. Red-alert. Fire all weapons."

* * *

><p><em>Impala<em>

They put the _Impala_ back together as best they could and waited to hear from Dr. McCoy. Ellen had beamed over as soon as the warbird was disintegrated, leaving the bridge crew to work frantically in a rather futile attempt to keep from climbing the walls.

Jo determined she never ever wanted Captain James T. Kirk as an enemy. "I knew I liked that guy," was all a tightly-wound Ash said before disappearing to work computer magic within the _Impala_'s brain. Castiel had a fine light of vengeance burning in his usually calm eyes and took great pleasure in picking out Romulan life pods, transporting them to the _Enterprise _directly.

No one on the _Impala_ trusted themselves with these particular prisoners.

And they waited.

For an interminable time.

* * *

><p><em>Enterprise<em>

Dr. Leonard McCoy was a genius surgeon.

That and indomitable Winchester will was all that ensured both captain and first officer would live.

Dr. Ellen Harvelle could recognize this. She was a better diagnostician perhaps, but Bones McCoy could make a laser scalpel and dermal regenerator work miracles under his deft touch.

It was a good thing too. Even after surgery and on the mend, Sam was struggling through heavily abused lungs and a thoroughly messy snapped leg. Dean had been given the beating from hell. When he arrived on the _Enterprise_, he was going into major organ failure and his heart was beating erratically.

Right now of course, he was up, vocal and a pain in the ass.

She was so happy it was either yell at the idiot, stupid, moronic, self-sacrificing captain or cry.

She yelled. Loudly.

It woke Sam up, which in turn shut Dean up.

Win-win situation.

Bones checked Sam over and released Dean for light wandering, no duty, just something out of sick bay before he pulled a Jim Kirk and connected all the heart monitors together to play Christmas carols.

Sam had to stay for a bit longer.

Dean came back after a short nap with a bounce in his step and a greeting from their dad, which warmed Ellen's heart even further. He then proceeded to fill Sam in on the past few chaotic hours.

Ellen stuck around for the fireworks.

Sam didn't disappoint.

"You WHAT? Are you mentally retarded?" Great big hazel eyes filled with shimmering tears and Dean back-pedalled.

"I wasn't planning to die, I had a plan, someone had to save the ship!" Dean freaked because he thought Sam thought it was a dumb idea (it _had_ been a dumb plan).

"I wasn't there to help you." And then Sam was blaming himself.

Now Dean would reassure.

Then Sam would freak out again because his brother had expected to die.

Dean pointed out Sam essentially did the same thing.

Lather, rinse, repeat – an endless cycle of chick-flick angst.

She got Bobby to put an end to it. Head-slaps were probably involved but she didn't probe into it when they both stopped melting down. If you like the result, you didn't question the methods when it came to the Winchesters.

Then she had to ask Bones to eliminate the recording Kirk had made of the freak-out session by threatening to relate the details of Kirk's last stay in the infirmary with Spock.

She may or may not have kept a copy of the Winchester recording for herself.

* * *

><p>Three days later, a sore Dean and hobbling Sam clambered out of the rented hover-car. Grinning at Kirk, Dean tried to pay him with an outrageously tiny tip so that Sam had the chance to jam the fence gate open with a crutch (yes, Sam had threatened to poke his brother's brains out with his crutches if Dean didn't stop hovering).<p>

"Jackass," Kirk shot back with a grin, flipping the half credit in the air.

"Dumbass," Dean retorted. "Hey, dude –"

"Dean, no chick-flick moments. I did what you would have done. No need to worry about it, man. Hell, you'll probably have to pull my nuts out of the fire at some point."

Dean nodded gruffly. Kirk flipped him a salute. "I've got a tiny tinker-ship to repair for my buddy, this idiot who flew it into a nebula and toasted the engines. You might know him. I'll let you go say hi to your old man."

"Hey, she's _not_ a tinker-ship and she's _not_ tiny!" Dean shouted down the road after the car.

Kirk just laughed and waved out the window without looking back.


End file.
